


Dogs Are the Magicians of the Universe

by ishtarelisheba



Series: Better to Face the Bullets 'verse [23]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-22 14:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20875706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishtarelisheba/pseuds/ishtarelisheba
Summary: Belle and Rummond look to add a furry (and protective) member to the family.





	Dogs Are the Magicians of the Universe

The day was nice, bordering on sunny and ideal for a drive in the country. One might actually have called it warm. Belle was on the seat next to Rummond, a hand resting on his knee while he drove, and Neal sat in the back when they could get their son to sit at all. 

“Where are we going?” Neal asked for possibly the tenth time since they left home, all but pressing his face against the window.

“I want your backside on the seat. There’s naught to see but trees just yet, duckling,” Rummond fussed. “You’ll find out presently.”

The little boy dropped back down, continuing to crane his neck to look around as though they were surrounded by anything more than forest.

It was Ruby who had effectively sent them on their adventure today. Belle knew how her friend had loved the hospital dog she’d cared for during the war, and Ruby was the only person she could think might have some idea where a dog suited for more than hunting or ornamentation might be obtained. She felt badly when Ruby teared up, but her friend admitted that she _had_ occasionally thought about getting a dog now they were all home. She simply hadn’t yet been able to bring herself to. 

A bit down the road, Neal asked, “How much farther?”

“Not too much, I believe,” Belle said, looking at the hand drawn map Ruby provided.

Their destination was a farm, the owners of which also bred a small number of pups a couple of times a year with their own beloved herding dogs. It was a drive ideal for a weekend excursion - an hour outside of town, the route one taking them away from any manner of modern structure for miles upon miles. They turned onto a side road, dustier and bumpier, to Neal’s delight. The farm was visible after perhaps a minute more. 

Neal gasped with the sort of excitement only a child could experience, once more peering out the side window, this time at the herd of sheep on an expanse of fenced grazing land to one side of the road. “Papa! Are we getting sheep?”

_“Are_ we getting sheep?” Belle teased her husband.

He snorted a soft laugh. “We are not going to be raising sheep, no.”

“You said you took care of sheep when you were my age,” Neal pointed out.

Rummond shook his head. “And I’d more than enough of them then.”

As they neared the farmhouse, a trio of big, leggy, black Belgian sheepdogs rose from their resting place near the open front door, greeting visitors with a barking chorus.

“Dogs!” Neal cried happily. “We’re getting a dog!”

“One a good measure smaller,” Belle confirmed for their son, grinning at his ecstatic bounce on the back seat. Her husband held a similar expression when she exchanged a look with him.

Rummond got out, reaching in to lift Neal out after him before going around to open her door. The dogs continued barking, looking as though they were only just able to restrain themselves from greeting their guests with paws and tongues, all. 

“Well, we can be sure they’re fine watch dogs,” Rummond said with a chuckle.

“They are, indeed!” a man called out over the barking. 

An older couple - the farmer and his wife, presumably - came out to greet them. They shushed the dogs, who quieted and circled around to stand back in something nearer a state of calm. 

“Henry Gale,” the farmer said, shaking Rummond’s hand. “My wife, Emily.”

“Rummond Gold. This is my wife, Belle, and our son, Neal,” he introduced, and Belle offered her hand to both of their new acquaintances.

The farmer gave a nod. “Aye, we’re expecting you. Come and have a look, see what you think.”

He led them around back to a nice little kennel built onto the farmhouse. The kennel was sturdy and clean, a fine shelter from the elements with a door right into their home, Belle was glad to see. A half dozen or so black puppies with large ears sticking straight up from their heads began barking as soon as they were in sight, hopping, wiggling, stumbling over one another. Neal practically vibrated with thrilled anticipation before Emily let the group inside.

Immediately, Neal sat to be mobbed by puppies. “Mama, look!” he squealed, giving himself up to the small herd of licking, yipping creatures with energy to match his own.

Not in the least immune to their adorable temptation, Belle squatted down to pet and be pawed at, as well. 

“The litter’s near two months. Ready to go, if you like. They’re excellent guards, and equally excellent family dogs,” Henry told Rummond. “They love their family, they’re content with anyone commonly at home. Strangers won’t get far, though.”

“Precisely what we’re looking for,” Rummond said, smiling down at them and leaning on his cane. He spoke to the farmer about the dogs. Temperament, food, health, general details of care. 

After a while, Belle noticed that Neal seemed to be holding one particular pup even while attempting to pet all the rest. The puppy appeared happy to be held, licking Neal’s hand, making no effort to wriggle away. 

“Looks as if someone’s found a friend,” Emily observed.

“Who is that?” Belle asked, resting a hand at his back. “Have you found the one?”

Neal beamed up at her. “He found me! I patted him and he climbed on my lap.”

“He’s made a clever choice, then.” She dropped a kiss on top of his head before pushing to her feet, the position becoming uncomfortable around her middle. 

Coming to an agreement, the farmer and Rummond shook hands once more. He stepped close to his family, unable to resist bending to ruffle a few puppies, himself. Neal carefully stood with the ball of black fluff held in his arms. 

“What are we going to name him?” Rummond petted the pup’s considerable set of ears back and received a friendly huff in return.

For a moment, Neal pulled a face in concentration. “I’ll have to think about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Takes place May 1921, around a week after the events of [Never Where You Think You Left It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20162254).)


End file.
